Punishment by Anne Holt

For a moment, it was as if he couldn’t remember what he was doing. Then he ran his hand over his scalp and sat down.
    â€˜There aren’t any.’
    The office had no windows. But the air was fresh, nearly cold, and surprisingly free of smells. The quiet buzz of the ventilation system was drowned out by a distant ambulance siren. Stubo felt closed in. There was nothing to give him his bearings. No daylight, no shadows or shifting clouds to tell him where he was.
    â€˜The subject was a five-year-old identified boy,’ the pathologist reeled off, as if reading from an invisible report. ‘Healthy. Normal height, normal weight. No illnesses were reported by his family, no illnesses were identified during the autopsy. Inner organs healthy and intact. There is no damage to the skeleton or connective tissue. Nor are there any marks or signs of violence or inflicted injuries. The skin is unbroken, with the exception of a graze on the right knee that is obviously from an earlier date. At least a week old and therefore inflicted before he disappeared.’
    Stubo rubbed his face. The room was spinning. He needed something to drink.
    â€˜Teeth are intact and healthy. A full set of milk teeth, with the exception of the front tooth in the upper gum, which must have fallen out a matter of hours before death . . .’
    He hesitated and then rephrased it:
    â€˜Before little Kim died,’ he finished quietly. ‘In other words . . . mors subita.’
    â€˜No known reason for death,’ said Adam Stubo.
    â€˜Exactly. Though he did . . .’
    The pathologist was red-eyed. His thin face reminded Stubo of an old goat, especially as the man had a goatee that made his face even longer.
    â€˜He did have some diazepam in his urine. Not much, but . . .’
    â€˜As in . . . Valium? Was he poisoned?’
    Stubo straightened his back and laid his arm along the back of the sofa. He needed to hold on to something.
    â€˜No, not at all.’
    The pathologist scratched his little beard with his index finger.
    â€˜He was not poisoned. I am of the opinion, however, that a healthy boy of five years should absolutely not be taking medicine that contains diazepam, but all the same, there’s noquestion of poisoning. Of course, it’s impossible to say what kind of dose he was originally given, but at the time of death, there were only traces left. In no way . . .’
    He stroked his chin and squinted at Stubo.
    â€˜. . . enough to harm him. The body had got rid of most of it already, unless he was only given a ridiculously small amount. And I can’t imagine what that would be good for.’
    â€˜Valium,’ said Adam Stubo slowly, as if the word itself held the secret, the explanation as to why a boy of five could just die, for no apparent reason.
    â€˜Valium,’ the pathologist repeated, equally slowly. ‘Or something else with the same substance.’
    â€˜But what is it used for?’
    â€˜Used for? You mean: what is diazepam used for?’
    For the first time, the pathologist got a slightly irritated look just above his eyes and he glanced over at the clock, openly.
    â€˜Surely you know that. Nerves. It’s widely used in hospitals for pre-op purposes. Makes the patient drowsy. Calms them down. Relaxes them. It’s also given to patients with epilepsy. To prevent severe convulsions. Both children and adults. Kim didn’t suffer from anything like that.’
    â€˜So why would anyone give a five-year-old . . .’
    â€˜I’ll have to stop there for today, Stubo. I’ve actually been working for eleven hours. You’ll get a preliminary report in the morning. The final report won’t be ready for a few weeks. Have to wait for all the results before I can finish it. But, broadly speaking . . .’
    He smiled. Had it not been for the expression in his small, close eyes, Stubo might have suspected him of enjoying all this.
    â€˜You’ve got a